


Kitchen Dreams

by itszapah



Category: Food Network RPF
Genre: Cooking Shows, Food Network - Freeform, M/M, at all, i mean its very serious but, im so sorry guys, like at all at all, this is not meant to be taken seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itszapah/pseuds/itszapah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gordon Ramsay and Guy Fieri are on a new cooking game show together called Chef Sandwich, hosted by Paula Deen. Will the two sort out their differences to succeed in the game of love and cooking, or will they lose their almighty chef status and fail the challenge?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitchen Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkstruckss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkstruckss/gifts).



> Fellow user mythicalls inspired me to do this. This is for her. I can’t believe I’m spending my young adult college years writing Guy Fieri and Gordon Ramsay crack fics, but here I am. Expect the unexpected, kids. Life is truly unpredictable. It's rated M mainly because Gordon curses a lot. I hope none of these people ever see this.

“Hey y’all and welcome to the premiere of America’s next favorite cooking show – Chef Sandwich!”

Paula Deen’s voice echoed throughout the studio. She faced the camera, a wild look in her blue eyes and hair as large as ever. She was the loud and proud hostess this episode of Chef Sandwich, a new sort of culinary game show on Food Network.

“Now let me explain to you what’s gonna go down here in this kitchen today,” Paula said, motioning behind her. The camera focused, and audiences everywhere got a crystal clear image of Gordon Ramsay and Guy Fieri together. They each wore something that looked like a harness or a life jacket on their chest, and hanging off of each jacket was a bungee cord tying them together. There was a little leeway room, but on the cord hung a basket. It held a giant stack of bologna, and it was apparent that if the cord had too much forced movement, the basket would tilt and the bologna would fall out.

Paula motioned towards the odd rope contraction. “The reason it’s called Chef Sandwich is because Guy and Gordon make up a sandwich by being bread. This basket has the fillings of a sandwich – bologna. The two must keep the bologna in the basket for the duration of the show as they cook their food, or they are both disqualified. But there's a catch!”

Gordon and Guy were facing different directions. Each of them were standing in front of a counter, supplied with various cooking ingredients and supplies. Some was usual and expected, like cutting boards, knives, eggs, and sugar. But then…

 “What am I supposed to do with all this _fucking_ butter?” Gordon Ramsay screamed in pure anger, looking at tubes and tubes of the white, sticky stuff.

Paula explained, “The host of each show gets to pick the ingredients. These are my picks. Your goal is to use my ingredients to create something wonderful. Whoever makes the better dish wins.”

“There is no proper meal anybody can make with butter! That’s – that’s rubbish!”

Paula laughed a hearty laugh and turned to Guy Fieri. He seemed rather pleased with the situation.

“You have two hours on the clock,” Paula said. “Aaaand…go!”

A giant, digital clock on the wall began counting down from 120 minutes. The numbers were bright and red, an ominous threat looming over the two great chefs.

Guy wanted to make it less scary.

“You know,” he said, turning his head to try and see Gordon. “My middle name is Ramsay!”

“And my mentor’s name is Guy Savoy, but this is not the fucking time,” Gordon retorted, not turning his attention away from the stacks on butter. So much butter…

Guy said, “I know I’m going to win! I might as well have fun while I beat you, ha!”

The two spent time working to create good deserts. Gordon had resorted to making an eloquent pound cake, while Guy stuck to home style cookies. The two spent the first hour pulling at each other as much as they could without dropping the bologna, and occasionally cursing at one another (at least Gordon did). Overall, they did not get very far with their plates. As one turned left, the other would turn left unknowingly, and both would be tugged towards the middle by the bungee cord. It was infuriating.

“I think they should have called this Hell’s Kitchen!” Guy Fieri said.

“You’re right,” Gordon Ramsay said. “Because hell is full of _Fieri_.” It could have been a joke or an insult. Probably both.

Gordon Ramsay moved to the edge of his counter to grab a whisk, but as he did so, the cord objected and Guy came running backwards into him. It wouldn’t have been so awkward, if their asses hadn’t touched.

“Oooh, their booties are kissing!” Paula exclaimed. “But the bologna is still in the basket. When they’re this close, the cord goes far enough down to have the basket resting safely on the floor.”  

“Fuck!” Gordon Ramsay screamed. “Our booties are not fucking kissing!”

“Huh, I guess that’s what all the butter is for…lube,” Guy realized. Gordon looked ready to chop his head off.

Neither spoke again to each other for a while, until it was time for Guy Fieri to put his cookies in the oven which was situated in the back of the makeshift kitchen. He’d have to walk over there, and take Gordon with him.

“I’m heading over,” Guy announced.

“What the-“

Before Gordon could finish, Guy was already walking towards the oven, and Gordon was pulled back. He tripped, falling backwards onto Guy. Guy fell on his back, dropping his cookies but catching the bologna basket, and then Gordon fell face first on top of him, only stopping himself from crushing the bologna with his strong hands holding him up.

The two men looked at each other in the eyes, mesmerized and shocked.

“I’m…sorry, Guy,” Gordon said awkwardly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Guy said. “We were doomed to end up like this from the start…I never noticed how blue your eyes were.”

Gordon blinked, blushing. “And your hair is even cooler up close…it looks like flames. Like fire.”

Guy smiled. He was tearing up. “Finally. Somebody understands…”

Gordon sighed. “You know, Guy. We’re going to have to work together to win this and keep our bologna safe.”

“Okay…” Guy grinned. “Then can I see your bologna tonight, if you know what I mean?”

Gordon nodded. “You have the key to my heart.”

Guy agreed. “And the key to Ferndale, California. I’ll take you there sometime.”

The two stood up, holding hands and the bologna basket together. Paula started wooing.

“Now isn’t this a turn of events!” she said to the camera, absolutely gushing.

“I dropped my cookies,” Guy said. “But that doesn’t matter. We have your cake and we’re a team, Gordon. We’re going to make something awesome. Together.”

The newly formed couple walked towards Gordon’s table and created the best damn pound cake known to mankind. They placed the bologna basket on the counter.

Paula started to protest, but Guy said, “You never said we had to keep the bologna on the bungee cord.” Paula gasped. The G’s were right with everything, except maybe politics.

The two hours were up. Gordon and Guy presented their duo pound cake. It was the shape of an eggplant.

Paula was crying. “This is the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed!” she exclaimed. “You both win a million dollars for true love!”

After receiving their prize and walking to the parking lot, the two men were about to go their own ways, but Guy held out his hand and grabbed Gordon by the wrist, keeping him back. “Wait! You can come with me. To California.”

“But Guy, England is where I belong,” Gordon said. His voice cracked. He was so sad.

Guy frowned. “Can I at least take you for a ride in my Ferrari?” He paused. “It’s called…the Fierrari.”

Gordon stared at him a moment in disgust of such an awful pun, but then broke into laughter. “Of course, my love!” The two kissed and, holding hands, walked towards Guy’s car as the sun set behind them. 


End file.
